


all I get is wild thoughts

by fliptomybside



Series: you can hear it in the silence [8]
Category: Dunkirk (2017) RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 00:13:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13775592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fliptomybside/pseuds/fliptomybside
Summary: Harry doesn't get changed after yoga. Fionn likes it.





	all I get is wild thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> I really did just sit at my desk at work and write this. SORRYYY. All [Em's](http://fullstopmgnt.tumblr.com) fault as usual. This is all filth, zero plot. Sorry again. Unbeta-ed so all mistakes are mine, title from Wild Thoughts - Rihanna, please don't let the real people that this is about see it, etc. etc.

Fionn’s seen Harry in every possible state of dress and undress at this point, is the thing. He’s watched Harry palm himself with a smirk in a yellow satin suit. Seen him step dripping wet and naked out of the bathtub in FIonn’s flat that’s seen better days. Felt Harry’s cock, hard and slick first thing in the morning slipping between his ass cheeks. Fionn’s seen all of Harry in ways he both has and hasn’t imagined, but this. It’s a lot.

Fionn lets himself lean against the doorframe for a second and just--observes. 

Harry’s busy at the sink, undoubtedly washing up the cereal bowls that Fionn (and Tom) have let pile up there during the week. Fionn feels a twinge of guilt over it but it’s overshadowed by the fact that Harry’s got on a pair of yoga tights and nothing else. Fionn’s watched Harry do yoga before. He’s gone with Harry to yoga under protest but Harry generally either opts for sweats or a pair of shorts for modesty. 

Not today, apparently. Fionn feels a bit creepy about staring. He shifts in place but he can’t make himself look away from how broad Harry’s shoulders look and the way the waistband of the tights cuts into his hips just a little. How they make it look like Harry actually has an ass. He’s still staring when Harry turns around, a slow smile spreading across his face when he sees Fionn in the doorway.

“Hiii,” he drawls, leaning back against the sink and cocking his hips just enough so that Fionn knows it’s intentional. 

He can see the line of Harry’s cock, tucked to the left like always, painfully visible through the gray fabric. Fionn swallows.

“Hi,” he croaks, a hundred sarcastic comments dying on his lips. 

“Shouldn’t let the dishes get ahead of you Fionnly,” Harry says, crossing his arms and smiling even wider because he knows, Fionn can tell.

“You’re lucky Tom didn’t walk in on this,” Fionn says, trying to ignore the fact that he’s half hard. 

Harry’s eyes flicker down to his crotch and he blinks at Fionn slowly and lets his arms drop.

“Laundry day,” he says, shrugging.

“I,” Fionn says as he starts to step forward, edging into Harry’s space because he can’t not, not with the way Harry’s looking at him, “find it hard to believe that you,” he presses himself against Harry’s front, makes sure Harry can feel that he’s hard, “had no other clean clothes,” he pauses a centimeter from Harry’s lips, “you. I just. Don’t buy it.”

“No?” Harry breathes against his lips, his hands making their way to Fionn’s hips and his own hips tilting forward, delicious friction but not nearly enough. 

“No,” Fionn says against Harry’s lips.

Harry just hums into his mouth at that, lips warm and tongue slick and then he’s biting down on Fionn’s bottom lip and Fionn feels like he’s going to melt, the heat of Harry’s body bleeding through his jumper. Harry tightens his grip on Fionn’s hips and it’s a lot, the gentle movements of Harry’s body against his, how all Fionn can focus on is the hard line of Harry’s cock against his, close but not close enough, trapped in those ridiculous tights.

“Harry,” he pants, slipping his hands around Harry’s back and dragging his fingernails gently over the curve of Harry’s ass, “why are you wearing these?”

He punctuates the question by snapping the waistband against the soft skin of Harry’s hips. Harry stutters out a breath into his mouth and Fionn thinks he can feel Harry’s cock twitch in surprise or pain or both. 

Harry doesn’t answer right away. He unbuttons Fionn’s jeans instead and palms Fionn’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the tip through the thin fabric of his briefs, the drag of it almost too much for Fionn.

“Don’t,” he chokes out, pulling away from Harry’s mouth even as his hips twitch forward into Harry’s hand. 

“Hmm?” Harry says casually like he’s not affected by any of this, even though his lips are red and slick and his pupils are blown and Fionn can see how just how affected Harry is when he looks down and sees Harry’s cock straining against the fabric of his tights, a damp spot by the head where Harry’s leaked. 

“These,” Fionn starts, stepping back even though Harry whines when he does, hands dropping from Fionn’s body, “are the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever worn,” he finishes, going to his knees and swallowing hard before he noses along the line of Harry’s cock. 

“Fuck,” Harry swears, leaning heavily back against the counter. 

Fionn can see the muscles jumping in his thighs through the fabric and he watches Harry’s cock twitch when he pulls back. 

“Ridiculous,” he breathes before he leans forward again to mouth along Harry’s cock, feels the heat of it and has to reach down to palm himself when Harry moans long and low as Fionn sucks at the head of it through the tights. 

They’re mottled gray when he pulls back, a damp combination of his spit and Harry leaking through them, and Fionn lets himself rest his forehead against Harry’s hip for a second, breathes in the smell of him and and tries to steady himself.

“Making a mess,” Harry pants above him, and Fionn can feel the vibrations of his voice, deep and rumbly. 

He swallows again and faintly registers the ache in his knees. 

“Fair’s fair,” he croaks, because they both know Harry’s made a mess of Fionn more times than either of them can count. 

He drags a finger over Harry’s cock and then replaces it with his mouth, exhaling hot over it and digging his fingers into Harry’s thighs. Harry’s hips start jerking forward unevenly and Fionn knows he’s close. He can feel it in the tension of Harry’s thighs and the way he can taste Harry through the fabric of the tights. He’s made a mess of Harry, the front of his tights dark gray and his cock obscenely hard.

“Want you to come for me,” he says, and he swallows hard when Harry reaches down and slips his hand into his pants and palms himself.

“No,” he says, batting Harry’s hand away, “no hands. C’mon, you can do it.” 

“Fuck, Fionn,” Harry groans, but he pulls his hand out, and all Fionn can think about is the first time Harry made him come untouched.

The way he’d rested his hand on Fionn’s thigh and just. Talked him off in that horrible low monotone that was somehow still the hottest thing Fionn’d ever heard. 

“Harry,” he says, digging his fingernails into Harry’s hips, “I want you to come for me.”

He blows over Harry’s cock and thinks about how it must feel, the wet fabric pressing against Harry’s skin, the ghost of friction that always feels like it could enough if he just shifts the right way. 

Harry’s chest is heaving when Fionn looks up at him. His hair’s curling at the temples and he’s got the edge of the countertop in a death grip and Fionn grits his teeth at the sight of it all. He drags his tongue over Harry’s cock and then sits back on his heels.

“Make a mess for me,” he says, and his voice is wrecked even though he hasn’t properly sucked Harry off.

Harry blinks down at him and bites hard at his lower lip. Fionn watches it go white and reaches down and touches himself, letting his eyes flicker down to Harry’s cock.

“Jesus,” Harry heaves, low and rough and he brings a hand up to press at his lower belly and Fionn can see it when he comes, the final twitch of his cock and the dark spot and Fionn’s shaking when he gets to his feet and spins Harry around.

The counter’s probably cutting into Harry’s hips but Fionn knows he’ll like it. He gropes at Harry’s cock through the fabric and Harry whines, probably still feeling the aftershocks. Fionn steps back enough to pull the tights down over the curve of Harry’s ass and takes his cock out, slides it between Harry’s ass cheeks, slick and hot and too much all at once, the thought of making a mess of Harry like this.

“Love you,” Fionn breathes against the curve of Harry’s neck before he bits it against a groan when the head of his cock catches on Harry’s rim.

He comes a second later, makes a mess of Harry’s ass and slumps against his back, legs shaky and skin hot. 

“‘M a mess,” Harry says after a minute, and Fionn huffs out a laugh against Harry’s shoulder.

He pulls back carefully. Harry’s right. He is a mess. They both are, really. Fionn pulls the tights back up over Harry’s ass and gives the waistband a snap.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [here](http://polaroidgirlfriend.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
